Shades of Perception
by Elinora
Summary: Season 7. Spike and Xander (not slash), bonding fic in which Our Heroes battle the Magnificent Poof from L.A. Angel has his own agenda...
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One  
  
The Monkey-puzzle  
  
Inevitably, Spike was left sprawled flat on the grass like some life-size Goth lawn ornament abandoned after Halloween. Xander watched as Angel's big black convertible sped away from the house.  
  
When it finally came down Buffy had retreated to avoidy mode. Too busy, she claimed, doing important Slayery things. She did make a brief appearance on the back porch, arms crossed, to announce curtly that if either of them disappeared in a shower of dust the other would shortly follow. Then she left on patrol, determined chin held high, her expression implacable. Didn't fool anyone.   
  
Dawn inherited command of the house, but Xander was left to see that Buffy's Will in All Things was followed out in the yard. In the heady excitement of the moment he had grudgingly agreed to act as fight nanny, but was somewhat unsettled by her conviction that he could have any influence on the outcome. Besides, he had reminded her, she'd said it was their problem, not hers or anyone else's, they had to sort it out themselves. He didn't mind, however, having a front row seat.  
  
It was well after dusk and the street was threatened with total darkness. The last invasion of Harbingers had been thorough enough to punch out most of the streetlights in the neighborhood, and for some reason Sunnydale Power and Electric didn't seem to consider their replacement a priority. The glow from a few houses on the street, the scattered headlights of a few cars, and Xander's industrial sized permanently borrowed-from-work flashlight were all that kept total darkness at bay.  
  
Having retreated early on to the relative safety of the front porch, Xander brandished his flashlight authoritatively in one hand. Gliding the beam over the front yard, he assessed the situation in what he fancied to be a logical military fashion. With consummate ease, and not a little practice, he determined the body count, likely placement of land mines, and charted the current path of enemy retreat. All such minutia catalogued, he took his chance to bestow a stirring motivational speech upon the remaining troops.  
  
"Oh, is he going? Too bad, she could have put him in the basement with you."  
  
There was no answer at first, just the rustling of last autumn's leaves tossed around by the warm spring breeze. A more serious, involved rustling followed, rather like the sound of a vampire digging his way out of a shrubbery.  
  
"Not bloody likely," Spike's voice drifted out of the gloom. "_He'd_ never live in someone's basement with broken things and frilly girl's knickers. Gone back to his poncy hotel. Room service, fluffy towels, little mints on the pillow - all that wanker rot. Surprised he was able to drag himself away from the bleedin' hot water tank."   
  
"Hot showers, fluffy towels," Xander murmured softly, taking a moment to dream. "Lots of big dry fluffy towels. …Hot showers, with actual hot water."   
  
"Well, wouldn't you? " Spike conceded the point, though sullenly, and he seemed determined to seize whatever little victory he could. "Did you see what I did to his hair? " he asked cheerfully. "It'll stick in all that poncy gel for weeks."  
  
"Um-hum…" Xander mumbled. Even in the rapidly fading twilight he could see Spike's previously slicked-back hair had reclaimed its natural curl with conviction.   
  
He shifted the heavy light to his other hand while he waited as the vampire to come to some decision about his immediate future. "Are you gonna lounge out there all night? "   
  
"Give it over, Harris, I'm regrouping." Spike pushed himself up to a sitting position and craned his neck to peer further down the road, but The Car had vanished. The brawl that had started on the back porch and progressed across the side yard, through the hedge and flower garden to finish on the front lawn, had left him bedecked with foliage, grass, and a variety of unidentifiable lawn debris. With a sigh of resignation he began picking twigs out of his hair and clothes. "How the hell did he find out, anyway? "  
  
Xander furrowed his brow into concentration-face. "Well, let's see, only about 20 or 30 people just in this house alone know you have a soul now, plus every demon in the 'Dale, so yeah…the chances of that information making it's way a few miles up the road to LA is pretty freaking _incomprehensible._ Plus, you know, Willow might have accidentally let slip something when she was there the other day…"  
  
"Accidentally? " Still sitting, Spike twisted around in the grass to glare at him. _"Accidentally?_ " The annoyed tone in his voice failed to mask the threat lurking underneath.  
  
"Yeah. Don't bug her about it, she's all upset she spilled. She goes and puts _his_ soul back again, and please remember you promised not to tell Buffy about that, and maybe he's going on and on about some stupid prophecy and how maybe it's all screwed up because there has to be a souled vampire around at all times to make the world safe, and you know Willow. She says "Oh, don't worry Angel, cause we have _Spike_," and then Angel gets a really weird look on his face and then won't come out of his room for two days."   
  
"A weird look? Like what? "  
  
"She said it was majorly weird. Like having the Big World Rug pulled out from underneath you weird."  
  
"Well, maybe it was worth all the bother then." With apparent effort Spike finally staggered to his feet and started shakily towards the porch. He doubled over suddenly, disappearing out of the shaft of light, and for a moment Xander thought he'd fallen again. But then his slight form reappeared upright in the beam, gait a bit steadier, dragging the little bit of what remained of Buffy's side fence with him. He made it to the front porch without tripping over it, climbed the steps and sidled past the deck chairs, dropping it on the floor in front of Xander. Xander leaned over for a closer, more professional inspection.  
  
What had once been a rather mundane piece of yard enclosure was now a series of wood scraps held together by a few nails and a stray bit of wire. The paint job was still good, although the ultimate functionality of the article was now seriously in question.  
  
"Think you can fix that, then? She might not notice." Spike twisted a few of the stray splinters neatly around the remaining crosspiece and brushed off some of the dirt. His voice held a far away tone that made it hard to tell if he was serious or not.  
  
Xander unenthusiastically prodded the wreckage with his foot before kicking it firmly out of the way. "Oh, I think she'll be kind of noticey. Besides, I think she was furtively not-watching from down the street when it happened."  
  
"Never!" exclaimed Spike, managing to be all _shocked_ and _amazed_ yet in a very bored voice. "And here I thought she was busy making the graveyards safe for evening pedestrians while her two ex-boyfriends slapped each other around her flippin' yard like a ruddy pay-per-view wrestling match." Spike retrieved the fence and fastidiously propped it up against the window box as though that were its natural habitat. Stepping back, he eyed it morosely, making it clear that sheer boredom with everything else in the world was the only rationale for its hold over him.  
  
Admittedly, Spike played _bored_ very well, but Xander had learned by now not to accept every Spike emoticon at face value. For a few moments he said nothing, having decided to let the vampire stew a bit. He waited patiently until Spike stopped feigning un-interest in the woodwork and glared at him.  
  
Xander glanced over at the window. "Yeah, and your captive girly audience saw the whole thing, including the bit where he dumped you on the lawn and stomped off in a huff."   
  
Spike did his _pissed off_ face next. Chin down, eyebrows up, with the upper lip curl. "He didn't dump me. An' he ran off before I could thump him properly." Xander knew he'd hit a sore point when Spike moved further down the porch to stand stiffly by the pillar. He braced his arms braced firmly on the railing and glared out into the yard as if desperate for a second opportunity at mayhem.  
  
Xander had never been a big Angel fan. Or Spike fan, or when you got right down to it, even a vampire fan. But Angel was right at the top of his _not fan of_ list. Probably due to some seething resentment for the vampire stealing the heart of the first girl that Xander was sure he loved. Occasionally he wondered sometimes why this seemed a fundamentally worse crime than a second vampire shagging the second girl he loved rather publicly on a sturdy wooden table after repeatedly shagging the aforementioned first girl in variety of equally interesting ways.   
  
But at heart, he knew it must be the first vampire's fault for setting the first girl on the vampire lovin' path to hell in the first place. All other transgressions flowed directly from there. He was certain of that, if nothing else.  
  
He couldn't say he was totally unhappy with the outcome of the brawl, though he never thought to see the day he would root for Spike. As a betting man, he should have put his money on the bigger, more muscular combatant before the skinny underfed one, but he'd learned early in life be cautious with Sunnydale wagers. And you always have to back the guy on the home team, even if his inclusion on the home team was achieved by decidedly underhanded maneuvers.   
  
But even if you supported him, albeit marginally, you didn't always have to let him know about it.  
  
"Well, he did seem in kind of a hurry to leave."   
  
"Well, yeah, I was gonna hit him again." Spike ended his inspection of the empty yard and, melting into his trademark slouch, turned to look at him.  
  
Xander knew he'd have to declare some form of allegiance or the night was going to be even longer than normal. "Right, a big scardey Angel. What a …um..._poofter_."   
  
Spike seemed satisfied with that, and wandered back over in front of the window. Xander gestured to the deck chairs, and without a word both sat down.   
  
They'd been doing this a lot recently, and Xander reassured himself with the knowledge that it served an important community service. Out here, he figured, they could both pretend they were being quite useful in-between the times Buffy had to rescue them from the clutches of evil.   
  
The soul-less currently outnumbered the soul-having in town, and lately this house had been attracting more than its fair share of bloodshed. Someone had to sit up late at night and keep a lookout for that sort of thing. And anything was preferable to trying to sleep in the same room as a dozen noisy hyper squirming nubile girls.  
  
He'd thought of sharing the basement with Spike, but it seemed like just too much of a commitment since he hadn't been able to convince anyone to surrender a second cot and they refused to let him take the sofa down there.  
  
The two mugs of blood that Andrew, in a fit of misplaced hospitality, had brought out to the melee remained untouched on the porch railing. "You want that? " asked Xander, pointing to the mugs of now only slightly warm blood. "It's getting all cold and clotty, and after he so nicely warmed it up to 98.6 for you in the spankin' new microwave."  
  
"Oh, right. No point in going to waste." Spike reached out for both mugs and downed the contents swiftly, settling the empty mugs on the chair arm. His grimace at the cold bloody nastiness didn't go unseen by Xander, who peered past him to check out the trail of wreckage littered throughout the yard. Tropical hurricanes had nothing on two pissed off vampires trying not to kill each other, and Xander knew he'd be busy next week. And not in the demon-fighting way. He wondered if there was any point at all in repairing things, if it wasn't Spike and Angel it was Ubervamps or Harbingers bashing their way through Buffy's rapidly depreciating property.   
  
He heard a sound from inside, and saw the momentary glimmer of light over their heads as the curtains twitched open. Several anxious faces appeared then disappeared from view. Otherwise, Dawn, the flock of potentialia and Andrew remained unseen if not unheard. He tipped his head back against the wall and listed to the ruckus going on inside. Several of the girls chattered loudly while Andrew whined that it had been too dark to videotape the action properly. The Chinese girl and Kennedy fought over the television remote. Dawn shouted at them all to just shut up and stay in and leave things be as it was just _a guy thing_ out there. Nothing to do with Buffy. Nope, nothing at all.  
  
Somehow, Xander suspected she was right, although he didn't think she really understood that yet.  
  
Briefly disregarding whatever barriers lay between them, he took a moment to appreciate the company of someone who at least shared a chromosome. Andrew, having supplanted him on the nerd list, didn't count - the Geek Chromosome was dominant there. And Giles' chromosome was never around.  
  
It was a prime night for an attack, and he tried to keep watch, but tonight he just couldn't keep his mind on the yard and the lurkiness of ever present danger. Time and time again he was drawn back to the vampire. He watched Spike prop one booted foot up on the porch railing and tilt his chair back and forth noisily against the front of the house. Guarding things with Spike, he'd found, was like guarding with a flock of birds, or those donkeys they train to guard sheep or cows or something. As long as they just act naturally you knew there wasn't a problem, you only had to worry when they got all silent and still. All must be well, since Spike was in full fidget mode and tunelessly humming some ancient Ramones song under his breath. Then, it occurred to Xander that maybe the donkeys were mostly quiet, and only got mean and jumpy when the coyotes showed up. He knew he should have paid more attention to that nature show, although it hadn't really mentioned the undead.  
  
He tried to think of an animal that got all quiet when danger lurked nearby, maybe crocodiles, or maybe cheetahs. It was hard to tell just what Spike was.  
  
Cheetahs, which brought to mind Cheetos. All they needed was a few beers and a big pile o' snack food, he thought, and they could pretend they did this sort of guy thing all the time. They could talk about sports, or football, or cars, or whatever it was guys talk about. Xander wasn't really sure, since he hadn't had much experience at guy chat. He suspected Spike hadn't either, what with dragging Dru and her little dollies around for the better part of a century.  
  
But when in doubt, Xander knew, guys could always talk about food. "Cheetos, we need Cheetos." Xander tried to sound unenthusiastic about the prospect, though not to the point of discouraging snack food acquirement.   
  
"You ate 'em all this morning at breakfast, don't think there's any left." Spike didn't sound particularly concerned either, but then he'd always seemed to prefer hot deep fried junk food to the stuff that came in handy re-sealable plastic bags..   
  
"No! They went shopping, Anya got more. Lots in the cupboard! "  
  
"So go get 'em."  
  
"Couldn't you get them."  
  
"Not hungry, you want them, you get 'em."  
  
"They'll just harass me. Give me the junk food calorie lecture and the fat content and I'll get the "Oh, Xander's getting flabby" look.  
  
"I've seen you thinner."   
  
"Shut up, Spike."  
  
There were no more comments made and he knew that Spike was ignoring him. He listened as the vampire muttered soft curses while frisking his duster for cigarettes, and thought back to a few of the little talks they'd had while sharing his apartment. The soul hadn't reduced Spike's need to yak about everything in his un-life, although it seemed to have set his perspective all spinny.  
  
It was Xander's apartment, he was Master there, and it had been a day or two after arrival before Spike got to talk. There had been a few years of assaults, slights and contempt to detail first, and for the most part Spike had sat there calmly, face impassive, his attention riveted to Xander's hands as he listened to his words.   
  
That had been a new experience, Spike listening quietly, but it gave Xander the chance to make his views clear. Boundaries were established and fortified, the expected mode of behavior made known. They both knew what their parameters were. Then, points made and relationship determined, he generously listened in turn. For a bit.  
  
It had been a heck of a shock, after dealing with all the grievances and differences that defined their relationship, to discover how frighteningly similar they were. It had been like one of those big life altering revelations to know that someone you were sure you hated was really just you with a little bit of clout and evilness.   
  
Spike was chatty by nature, a vice easy to exploit, and with the current no-talking Xander was starting to feel bored. He knew he could make the night more entertaining by asking about Drusilla or even Harmony, if he had the patience to endure any more angstyness on that front. Then again, recently he'd heard far too much about Spike's love life.  
  
Besides, he knew Spike would just retaliate by bringing up Insect Lady or Mummy Girl or _Let's-Sacrifice-Xander_ Bitch. They shared a sad sad history when it came to ex-girlfriends.  
  
But whatever he'd talked about Spike had never once brought up the subject of Buffy. Xander had gleaned a few more details about what had been going on under his nose all last year, mostly tidbits from Giles and Dawn, and he had finally realized his comprehension of the situation was decidedly imperfect. And while nothing would ever convince him that it wasn't all Spike's fault, he had begun to understand the true depths of what Spike felt on the Buffy front. Well, not really _understand_ the depths, but he had begun to suspect that whatever the heck was in them, they were pretty _deep._   
  
Another trait, Xander thought sadly, that he and Spike shared. They made the women they loved their whole world. Except for Jessie, his friend since playschool, the men in his life had just been accessories the girls showed up with. And Jessie was long dead, leaving him with, well, Spike.   
  
They sat there, pretending to ignore one another, scanning the terrain and watching the occasional car drive by. Spike was still humming the same song over and over, but his long fingers were tapping out the rhythm of an entirely different melody on the edge of the chair. He'd seemed normal earlier in the evening, pretty much the annoying Spike of old until the surprise appearance of Mr. Broody during the post-daylight supper hour. Now he seemed hesitant again, reclaimed composure and identity fallen by the wayside almost as fast as it had reappeared.  
  
It hadn't taken too many seconds of co-habitation to become aware of the astounding level of intricacies that comprised Spike's personality once the Big Bad Mode was turned off.  
  
Multifaceted. The Enigma that was Spike was multifaceted. Xander wondered if you had to be Evil or Interesting to be multifaceted, or was it something that was assigned at conception. He was pretty sure that he himself was single faceted. Maybe dual. Triple maybe once or twice, if it had been a really really good day. Never mutli.   
  
He felt his irritation level rise as Spike continued to hum, wondering if Spike actually know more than one verse of that song, dammit, because he kept mouthing the same damn words over and over. It had to be stopped.  
  
"Am I multifaceted? " he asked. He thought it seemed logical Spike would know, being all faceted himself.  
  
"Are you a what? "   
  
"Am I multifaceted? Am I, Xander Harris, an enigma? " He had Spike's full attention, and he could feel himself being sized up in the dark. Weighed in. Evaluated. It bothered him, all that evaluation. Since when had the judgment of the undead been so crucial to his sense of well-being. Well, pretty well always, he realized.  
  
"You? You're a bleedin' monkey-puzzle, Harris."  
  
"I'm a what? What in the hell is…"  
  
As he was about to challenge that bizarre categorization an unearthly screech echoed from somewhere off in the dark. He jumped to his feet but before he could even think of what to do next Spike was over the fence and halfway across the yard, all enigmatic vampiric superpowers at the forefront. Xander scrambled for the flashlight, knocked aside in his haste to get to up, but even before he had it turned on a tirade of enthusiastic cursing advised him it was yet another false alarm.  
  
He fumbled at the switch and aimed the light at the ruckus on the far side of the yard in time to see Spike gesture menacingly at innocent Californian wildlife.   
  
He helpfully jiggled the beam around the yard in the hope it would annoy the squirrels, or at least the vampire. Sure enough, Spike turned around and scowled while making the universal "turn-the-damn-thing-off" gesture with his left hand. Deliberately misunderstanding the request he waved back at Spike, the glowing beam still interfering with the night-vision of both natural and un-natural nocturnal critters.  
  
Spike glared at him again, then returned to shaking the lower branches of a tree with an enthusiasm that implied it was acting as some sort of stand-in. The furry threat from the trees under control, Xander remained on the porch, as customary, to guard the front door. Since there wasn't any real danger about, he decided to get clarification on Spike's last comment.  
  
"What the heck is a monkey-puzzle, anyway? " he yelled over to Spike. Very quietly, under his breath, he added "And it better not be anything like a butt-monkey." Spike either didn't hear or chose to ignore him. Xander watched as he abandoned the now limp-branched tree and disappeared into the darkness. With nothing else to do Xander sat down again and waited for Spike to finish stomping around the perimeter of the yard.   
  
In the few moments that Spike was distracted by fierce squirrel action Xander's eye caught a glint of metal shining from the street. He leaned forward for a better look and saw what might have been Angel's dimmed car drift slowly past the house. Maybe. There was too much black out there to tell. Besides, there was probably dozens of long black convertibles driving around out there.   
  
He didn't say anything about the car as Spike clambered back over the porch railing. He tried to think of what _should_ be said. He didn't know enough about the situation yet, and thought it might be a good time for some careful Angel-related prodding. There was a situation here, and it needed assessing. _Monkeypuzzling_? It was time to start the interrogation and find out what was what.   
  
He waited until Spike flung himself back into the chair, legs and arms askew, head thrown back against the side of the house. The vampire sighed dramatically, obviously miffed at being denied a brawl.  
  
Xander waited until he seemed settled, then sprung the attack.  
  
"Wow. That was something." It was an innocuous statement, calculated to not over-alarm the target, with the possibility of being taken in many directions, including the desired one.  
  
"What? The squirrels? " Spike slid sideways in his chair and looked over at him. "They're just the big gray ones from next door, nothin' special. Noisy buggers, though." He sounded as though he had more pressing things to worry about than Xander's keen observations.  
  
"No, the fight, you and Angel, that was something." Xander made a broad gesture with his arm to indicate the dark yard, which he knew Spike could see a heck of a lot better than him right now. "Very fighty, and cool, you know, except for the no-one winning and him just pushing you over and leaving bit."   
  
"Yeah, it was something all right," said Spike as he straightened out his body, stretching out one leg to rock the chair back and forth against the house. His tone became guarded, and it was obvious he was wary of Xander's intent. Xander suspected that in recent months he might have overdone the instruction on the responsibilities and obligations of the newly souled roommate. Just for a change, he decided to be non-confrontational.  
  
"Feel better now? All that pent-up repressed stuff let out? "   
  
Spike hesitated for a moment before answering somewhat morosely. "Not really, still lots left." He didn't elaborate further, but the speed of the chair banging against the side of the house increased.  
  
Missile deflected, Xander was forced to re-attack. "How about that, just us guys, again. You, me and Angel. " He chanced a sideways glance to see how the casual mention was taken.   
  
"You and me and who… ? " Spike's head whipped around, giving Xander his full attention. The chair banging stopped abruptly. _Definitely a crocodile_, thought Xander.  
  
"Remember at the school, you crashed Parent-Teacher night, and Angel offered me up as snack food. And after we'd wasted all afternoon helping Buffy make posters."  
  
Spike seemed to mull over the accusation, as though he had made a lengthy career of disrupting school functions. "Oh, right. When I first met Buffy's mum… she had an axe. She was a nice lady."  
  
Xander deflected the diversion, determined to keep on track. "No, when you first met _me_, and tried to eat _me_. And hey… what's our little deal with _that_? "  
  
"Our deal…? Oh…yeah, right…I'm sorry I tried to eat you. It was wrong."   
  
"You keep saying that, and just maybe I'll forget about it one day. Oh! And then you said Angel was your Sire and he was like your Yoda. Although I have to tell you that he didn't know who Yoda was, cause he asked me about it later. I told him Yoda was an ugly little gnome who lived in a swamp and stole food. And I don't get it, cause later you told Buffy that Dru was your Sire. "  
  
"She turned me, but Ang… _he_ was in charge of the family. He raised me, taught me things. Made sure I knew my place in the world, how to survive." His words were voiced precisely, carefully, like a lesson learn by rote.  
  
The turn of the conversation seemed to unnerve him, and Spike leaned forward to drag the bit of torn fence closer to his chair. He studied it carefully, holding it as one would a particularly loved trophy they were worried someone might steal. His angular profile nodded once or twice in the twilight and Xander imagined the internal vampiric process reaching some form of accord.  
  
Sure enough, a pronouncement emerged.  
  
"It's made of wood, you know." Distractingly, Spike's statement seemed to be directed to the fence rather than Xander.   
  
"Yeah…professional _carpenter_ you know. I can tell these things. _Instinct_."  
  
Spike turned to look at him as though Xander had suddenly sprouted a second head. A very stupid second head. He tore off one of the smaller wooden shards and leaned forward, holding out the impromptu stake. When he spoke, it was again clearly, and carefully, the edge of his accent softening into something more precise.  
  
"It's _wood,_ you know, vampire kryptonite. If he'd fallen on it, accidentally like, say on a pointy bit, it wouldn't have been my fault." For emphasis he flourished the scrap of wood under Xander's nose. "She couldn't have blamed me for _that_."   
  
Xander tilted his head back, briefly apprehensive that Chipless Spike was undeterred from poking him in the nose with a wood slat. But it saved him from having to answer right away, and he found it hard to think of an appropriate response. If Spike wanted to delude himself on the extent of Buffy's gullibility, Xander was hardly the one to lead the way out of Denial Land.  
  
"I think you might be pushing your luck on that one, Billy." He reached up his hand slowly and grasped the slat, stopping it from making another go at his chin. "She might not stop to check on the technicalities before getting all Slayery." He pushed Spike's hand down to the chair arm and held it there firmly by the wrist. Spike let him do it, but he could feel the waves of discord emanating outwards.  
  
The vampire glared at him, quiet for a moment, but then replied in a tense voice. "Well, yeah, that would be it," he said as he leaned closer to Xander. "A big poof, and game over. Just a dusty bit of grass to clean up, if you're at all bothered to."   
  
Xander caught his breath as the blue eyes changed to amber, the distinctive sound of flesh and bone re-arranging making itself the center of his universe. For a few seconds there was a majorly pissed off full vamp face inches away from his nose, then Xander was forced roughly backwards as Spike lunged forward, pulling his wrist from Xander's grasp. Xander felt rather than saw the blur of leather flying past him. His mouth left hanging open, his mind was still trying to process the possibilities of _what in the hell was happening_ when he saw Spike at the porch railing, arms in the air. There was another _whoosh,_ uncomfortably close to his head, and his reflexes had the sense to duck his body down as Spike swung the fence around and flung it away from the house. It sailed through the air, making a pleasing crunching noise when it hit a tree. The squirrel tree, way on the other side of the yard.  
  
They contemplated the feat for awhile, then Spike turned to face him. All calm again, Xander noticed, bizarro mood swing apparently over. He could just see his outline against the railing, head tipped to one side.  
  
"It's a tree," said Spike.  
  
Xander let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and the dizziness started to recede. "What's a tree? The one you just hit? Yeah, that's a tree, only now it's a tree with a fence stuck in it. And you can get that down later."  
  
"A monkey-puzzle. It's a tree, with funny shaped branches, so the monkeys get all lost trying to get to the top."  
  
The vampire sat back down in his chair and stuck his feet up on the railing, like nothing at all alarming or threatening had just happened. He still held the small stake, tossing it gracefully from hand to hand.  
  
It took Xander a few minutes for his brain to convince his body that he hadn't actually been in any danger and turn off panic mode. "So you think I'm good at confusing monkeys."  
  
"Among other things."  
  
"And is this a _good_ thing? "  
  
"Is what good? "  
  
"Confusing monkeys "  
  
"It keeps life interesting for them. They'd get all bored otherwise. Just sit there playin' with their nuts. "  
  
"Playing with their…Oh great, I'm Nutless Monkey Entertainment Guy. Thanks."  
  
"There's worse things to be."  
  
"Like what? "  
  
"Being dull and pointless, and having stupid hair."  
  
"Oh yeah, about that, a little while ago, I'm not sure, but I think I saw his car…"  
  
"Right."  
  
"I think …"  
  
"Give it a rest, Harris."  
  
Talk of Angel, it seemed, was off the menu.  
  
TBC…  
  



	2. The Dawning

**Chapter Two**

**The Dawning**

The soft melodies of the spring night chirruped innocently out from the darkness. Deprived of the prospect of a tête-à-tête Xander gave up on the guard-dog angle and decided it was time for a snooze. It was unlikely anything nasty would bully its way past Spike, who was still scrutinizing the area with all his natural hyper-ness.

Xander let his eyes drift closed and tried to think of nothing. Tara had attempted to show him how to do this once, back when she thought meditation could solve most of the world's problems. He tipped his head back against the side of the house, momentarily bonding with the vibrations of inner life rumbling through the walls. The internal heartbeat of the house was vaguely comforting, encumbered with small petty things and mundane trivialities. It was easy to switch to _lets pretend_ mode and dismiss the darkness as just that, _darkness_. No goblins, demons or vampires.

Except for the agitated one less than an arm's reach away.

Having ceded guard duty there was nothing to keep him awake, and he allowed his body to sink deeply into the chair. He tried to clear his mind and focus on everything inside himself, letting the outside world drift away. Peaceful and meditative, like Tara had patiently explained. To his surprise, he thought he was finally getting the hang of it.

He'd almost nodded off when his attention was caught by a soft, rustling noise. It was vaguely distracting, but the sensation that snapped him back to full consciousness was the absolute certainty that Spike was for some reason _staring _at him.

Cunningly, he maintained his sleepy posture while his ears flicked into high sneak mode.

The furtive noise rustled again. And became louder. Still furtive, but more of a noticeable rustle now. Like a brown paper bag from the liquor store type of rustle.

The rustling was followed by the creak of leather, a muffled grunt, and he snapped open his eyes in time to see Spike yank a mostly full bottle of bourbon out from its hiding place. The new hiding place, conveniently, was behind the terra-cotta planter sitting between their chairs.

"Ha!" he said. "Evil Vampire. You're sneaky ways are unmasked."

Despite the soul, Spike was unrepentant. "Knew you were awake," he accused Xander. "Could tell from your breathing." The now out-in-the-open rustling continued as Spike yanked the bottle from the bag, shook off the worst of the dirt and squinted at the murky liquid contents.

"Yeah, right." Xander nodded towards the bottle, "So they haven't found it yet? "

Spike seemed resigned to having Xander hone in on his booze. "Well I can't hide it anywhere inside anymore, nosy bints, 'specially that freakin' Rona, but none of them seem to have a knack for gardening." He held the bottle up. "Are you having any of this?"

Xander pulled himself up to a sitting position and stretched out his arms and legs to relive the kinks. "Oh yeah, liquor me up and take advantage, is that The New Plan?"

"New Plan? Right, that's it. I'll have you shiving all my crypt windows before the night's over."

"Uh… it's _shimming_, and only after I spend the next year fixing Buffy's fence, but then hey, I'm all yours. Hand it over."

Spike picked up the empty mugs from the chair arm and put them on the floor. For an uneasy moment Xander thought he was going to pour a shot into one, but instead the vampire just took a swig from the bottle and passed it over to him.

It must have been a significant moment, that very particular instant in time, for just as Xander's hand closed around the glass neck the porch was flooded in bright white light.

For a moment everything freeze-framed, the soft comfort of shadows dispersed by harsh reality. He could see Spike clearly now, all sharp angles and white hair; his battle scars were now fully visible. Behind Spike, the vague details of the yard faded away in the total darkness.

The disturbance continued with a loud crash as the front door slammed open. They turned their heads to see what would emerge.

It was Dawn, and not the pleasant early morning type with fresh dew and chirpy birds.

She stomped over and stood in front of them in full Miffed Teenager mode. Clearly desirous of their full and undivided attention, she propped her gangly body against the railing and stuck her long legs out in front of her as she gazed disinterestedly over their heads at the porch light.

Xander put the bottle on the arm of the chair and waited to see what would happen. It wasn't likely she would come out just to talk to him, since they often took the time to bond and bitch about slayerette overcrowding issues, but Spike had been expertly evading her for weeks.

The tentative reconciliation that had occurred between Spike and Buffy had failed to materialize with Dawn, and the early painful, awkward attempts at bridging the gap had degenerated into mutual avoidance. But lately she'd started talking at him and around him and about him, so Xander figured she'd moved forward and was ready to start abusing him directly. Spike hadn't caught on yet.

Xander waited. Dawn glared. Spike just sat there while time clogged up around them.

Ever the go-between, Xander finally gave up on either of the other two making the first move. "Hey Dawn, how's it going?"

She smiled at him through a mouthful of perfect teeth. "We want to know if things are all right, and if everyone is totally finished utterly trashing the yard." She looked pointedly at Spike as if daring him to speak. "Is Angel okay?" she demanded in a cold tone that brooked of too much rehearsal and too little sincerity.

Spike had never returned to full-throttle chattiness where Dawn was concerned, and he stayed in silent-running mode. They watched as he traced his finger up and down the stake, seemingly transfixed by the intricate knotty wood grain.

There was more waiting, topped off by another round or two of silence. Xander tried again. "Everything's fine Dawnster, don't worry."

Unimpressed, she tossed her head and flipped her hair back over her shoulders. "I wasn't worried, I mean, what's there to be worried about, besides all the damage around here." She scowled and crossed her arms as she contemplated the Summers domain.

Xander sighed, wondering again if Spike was truly heartless or just plain clueless. But The Great Wall of Ignoring was too much of an obstacle tonight and he lacked the knack or desire to chip away at the barriers that defined the Spike/Dawn relationship.

So he did what he could, which wasn't much at the moment. "There's nothing to worry about, Dawn. Just go back inside." He looked down and found the bottle still in his hand, so he raised it and took small swig, barely managing to not choke on the result.

"Hey Dawn," he wheezed. "Be a good Slayerette and go get us some Cheetos. And Spike, if you want to be my best buddy I think you're gonna have to start supplying a better class of booze."

Her look of horror made it quite clear he had offended her tender teenaged sensibilities, and her wide eyes regarded him with shock. "Cheetos? I will _not_, and I am so telling Buffy you two are out here getting plastered. You're supposed to be on lookout for demons and stuff, not yakking all night and getting sloshed."

"Fine. Say goodnight, Dawn."

"Fine! Goodnight _Xander_."

"Goodnight _Daawny_," said Xander, slurring his words in his best drunkard imitation. He happily waved the bottle at her, though he regretted it instantly. If he was starting to have fun pretending to be drunk then the real thing might not be prudent tonight.

Or ever. He lowered the bottle and spoke to her in his normal, Dependable Guy voice. "You'd better go inside, Dawn, we'll wait here till Buffy gets back."

She was still miffed, and she ignored him to glare at Spike who retaliated by remaining intently interested in everything except her. Yes, totally clueless. Xander saw her almost hold her breath as she waited for some acknowledgement, and he saw her disappointment when she got none.

"Goodnight,_"_ she announced softly to no one in particular. She turned and walked quietly back into the house, but the door slammed heavily in her wake. Immediately Xander heard muffled voices inside, probably the slayerettes demanding an exact account. He closed his eyes and tried to eavesdrop but the murmuring was too low to decipher.

Spike had his head cocked to the side, a wry smile on his lips, but seemed disinclined to offer up any of the extraneous gossip his vampiric hearing could pick up.

"Hey, that's an improvement," Xander said. "Now she's just not talking to you, 'stead of ignoring you entirely. And a big big improvement from threatening to set you on fire or impale you with wooden gardening tools. "

"Lucky me," muttered Spike. "All I need is another ruddy teenage girl hanging around." He dropped the stake down on the chair arm and stared off into the distance. He rummaged around in his pocket, apparently for his battered lighter.

Xander watched as he lit a cigarette, puffed on it a few times, and flung it on the floor. He took out another and lit it, twirling it lightly between his fingers as he peered intently off into the dark.

"There's things out there, watching us," Spike said mysteriously. "Big ugly things." But his tone didn't imply any immediate danger, and Xander decided it was just another way of getting the topic of conversation away from Dawn.

The newly-charged atmosphere and enthusiastic incandescent illumination discouraged nodding off again, and Xander took advantage of the brightness to begin an indifferent catalogue of Spike's cuts, abrasions and bruises. There didn't appear to be anything terribly permanent or mutilating, or even interesting, until he noticed the thin ribbon of blood that had wound its way down Spike's neck to nestle at his collar-bone. Intrigued, he leaned over to have a closer look.

"Hey. Is that…?" He pointed to it.

"What? " Spike's jerked abruptly, clearly apprehensive as his free hand went to his throat.

".. a _bite_? "

Spike flicked away a long tail of cigarette ash and ran his fingers along his neck. His fingers trailed lightly as he explored the gash on his neck. "Oh. Might be…why? "

Xander moved over for as close a look as he could get without totally breaching other-guy personal space considerations. "Yeah, it's a bite. Two teeth, fangs."

"So, it's a bite." Spike ditched another cigarette over the side of porch railing. "I'll live, probably, might need a rabies shot though, you think? Or Tetanus. Who knows where he's been."

"So it's a _bite_? An actual _bite_."

"It's a bite, Harris. Glad I could clear that up for you."

"A bite? From Angel? A bite? I mean, _Angel? _ Well…isn't that kind of ..well…_girly_...? "

"Girly? " Spike, perplexed, gave Xander a long odd look before reaching out to snatch back his bottle. "What's _girly_ about having your throat ripped out and you left bleeding to death? Your teeth are your major vampire weapon, 'specially if you've got both hands busy."

"But isn't it like pulling hair or something? You know… something the tough vamps don't do? "

"Right. You don't think tough vampires use their teeth? And you've lived in this town how bloody long? "

"I mean, okay, on regular people, fine, but not on other vampires. Isn't it considered kind of... well, you know… _erotic_? "

Xander knew from years of study and Hammer Films that vampires didn't need to breathe, but was intrigued to find out that the advantage didn't protect them from violent choking after inhaling bourbon the wrong way.

Spike coughed and spat, his body fell forward over his knees until he was doubled over in the chair. He sputtered and gasped for a little while longer before Xander heard his muffled reply.

"Erotic? What wanker in hell would think it's _erotic _to get your throat ripped open? " Spike's face was still down on his knees, his hands were up and clasped behind his head, but still somehow holding onto the neck of the bottle.

Spike's back was shaking, but Xander wasn't sure if it was from continued choking or very badly masked amusement.

"It's true." Xander spoke boldly, secure that years of furtive research in the hidden books he wasn't supposed to read hadn't gone to waste. He leaned forward and poked at the top of Spike's head with his index finger. "I read in one of Giles' _Tales of Ye_ _Olde Vampyre_ books, neck nibbling between vampires is considered a very sexy and uhh…_erotic_ pastime. There were pictures…drawings, and coloured etchings"

"Giles has erotic throat-ripping vampire etchings…I must have missed those when I lived with him."

"Majorly erotic. But there were essays, too, not just picture. Very scholarly stuff, written by English guys. I'm surprised you didn't know about that, being a vampire and all. And it's neck-nibbling, not throat ripping-out, _nibbling_. Though I don't know why Angel would want to do that, you know, to you, nibble you, and not rip out the jugular or vocal chords. Go figure."

There was utter silence for a few moments as Spike, still in his doubled-over posture seemed to contemplate the absurdity of the average Watcher's reference material. Slowly, he unfolded his body upright, and turning, looked Xander directly in the eyes.

"Whoever wrote that piece of shite," Spike said patiently, "sure as hell never had his neck nibbled on by Angelus."

"And sure, you'd be know'n that first hand, _William_." Xander launched to his feet as the thick Irish brogue drifted eerily out of the night.

Spike, unconcerned, just nattered back to the great black void. "What? Lose your car somewhere, Wanker? The crime rate here's something awful."

The Looming Angel Shadow emerged slowly out of the dark, his eyes blinking in the glare as he peered at them.

Spike, seemingly unsurprised in contrast to Xander's rush of panic, simply clasped the bottle close to his chest as though some undead etiquette law might require him to share cheap bourbon.

"Angel, Big Guy," Xander announced loudly and unnecessarily while sneaking in a clandestine knock on the window with his elbow. "You're back! How about that! Buffy's still not here you know, so you could come back later. "

"Oh yes! he's back," said Spike. "And with his Little Leprechaun voice. He only uses that when he wants to scare people."

All-out assault having failed to work, Angel was clearly trying very very hard to be reasonable. It was clearly a painful process. "Spike…I still need to talk to you. Without you fighting me."

Spike just ignored him and directed his commentary to Xander. "Takes two to fight, you know, and I didn't start the last one."

"What? " Angel's stunned face glared up at them. "Spike, you _did_," Angel protested. "I asked you a perfectly reasonable question, and then you hit me."

"Never! " Spike looked to Xander for backing. But while willing to give Spike a slight edge, even Xander couldn't dispute the history of the tornado that had swept through Buffy's kitchen.

"Well, you did hit him first," Xander was forced to concede. "But only after he asked you that question." Not, he tried to imply through tone of voice, that he necessarily disagreed with the concept of hitting Angel. Angel's annoying sincerity face had brought back too many high school memories, and tonight that was a face that had begged to be pummeled. Repeatedly pummeled.

Spike gazed at him with an innocent expression that had surely been used to lure countless unsuspecting patrons out of safe warm houses and into the pointy toothed arms of death. "Had to. He… he _provoked_ me."

His eyes blue and soft, Spike looked so damn innocent, and in that moment Xander knew that every wrong that had ever occurred in the whole wide world must have been Angel's fault.

A moment later he remembered that roommates who'd actually lived with Spike for a while and should therefore know him better should by rights be immune to vampiric charms and thralls. "Gah!....Uh….don't do that to me. Well, he just asked you a question. Why don't you just answer it so he can go away."

Spike looked peeved that Xander was jumping track. "He shouldn't have asked _that_ question," he declared. "It's none of his damn business."

Angel seethed quietly in the background. By unspoken mutual consent they let him seethe.

True, Angel shouldn't have asked that question; Xander had to agree with that. But, he had promised Buffy to be Mediation Guy for the evening. "Then don't answer it, but why start with the fighting. I thought you'd want to talk to him anyway."

"Why would I want to talk to him?" Spike seemed honestly bewildered. "I don't like him. Why in bloody hell does _everyone_ want me to _talk_ to him? "

Xander, determined to keep everyone reasonable, tried to keep things calm and even. "Well, you have a soul now. So does he, occasionally, so Willow tells me."

"So?"

"Well, I just assumed, you being all permanent and totally un-cursed soul-having now, you'd want to, you know, _talk_ to him."

"You…_you_ have a soul, right?" Spike, getting antsy, propped the bottle unsteadily on the chair arm as he leaned towards Xander.

"One hundred percent guaranteed." said Xander. He grabbed for the bottle before it spilled any of the dreadful stuff on the deck and stripped the paint. "And let me tell you, if I didn't have one, you wouldn't be here all talky now, cause I'd have dusted your skinny ass the first time you ate everything in my refrigerator."

He demonstrated his solidarity by hefting the bottle and downing a small sip without first rubbing the rim with his sleeve.

Spike waited patiently until he'd finished gagging over the taste. "So, you have a soul then. That's lovely and convenient. An' do you want to talk to him, since you have a soul? "

"Um….no, not a lot in common here..."

"Imagine that. Right then, I'm off the hook." Spike looked pleased at that thought. "Lately, there's too much bloody talking." His gaze darted over to Xander's hand and its liquid bounty.

Xander ignored the hint and held on to the bottle on the off chance he might need a defensive weapon.

Both kept ignoring Angel, who finally walked over to the bottom of the steps and glowered up at them.

"Oh no, he's still there," said Spike, sounding vaguely shocked. "He should go away now. We don't want him here. Nobody wants him here."

"Tough luck, I'm not leaving," muttered Angel. His patience had limits, it appeared, and Xander watched as he stomped up the steps.

"Unfortunately," agreed Spike. The casual attitude dissolved instantly and he swiftly moved out of his chair to claim the top step before Angel could reach it. For a brief second he had the height advantage, but then Angel grabbed him and simply shoved him aside.

The porch seemed very crowded now, and Xander, shocked at the ease with which Spike had relinquished control of the porch, waited for what would happen next. He sank back into his chair and pulled his legs up as close to his body as he could. If violence was going to re-ensue, he reasoned it was best to have as little of him as possible available for mutilation.

He re-thought the bottle-as-a-weapon idea, since just in case he got squished he didn't want sharp glass about, and he slid it down to the floor under the chair. It spun about for a moment then rolled to a stop. Behind him, he heard scrabbling noises at the window and wondered he how many were gathering to watch the second showing.

Having gained the field Angel just stood there between them.

Spike just stood there too. Strangely, he seemed to have taken the new invasion with indifference, and for a few seconds all three regarded each other warily under the porch light.

Waiting for someone to move. Or talk. Or something.

Angel wavered first, though not in voice, which was firm. "Xander, could you leave us alone. Please."

"Sure big guy!" Xander slowly rose from the chair and moved closer to the door. With hostilities stalled in a momentary ceasefire this was a good time as any to make his escape. But instead of taking advantage the chance he found himself babbling again.

"Just remember, no staking, beheading, or flamey assaults. And no maiming him. That really pisses her off, the maiming."

"And what is it to you, Xander, what I do to him?" Angel's eyes were narrow and unreadable, but Xander managed to pick up on the thudding aura of doom.

Angel's voice was more than a little condescending, and it was the snootiness that tipped Xander totally over the edge of the cliff into Spikeville. As usual, when intimidation reared its head Goofy Xander made his regularly scheduled appearance.

Complete with babble and foolish grins "Hey, remember now, no maiming of the anybody. Buffy's house, Buffy's rules. She's spent a lot of her time recently dragging wounded Scoobies back to the house. See."

Xander proudly lifted the bottom of his shirt up; the still healing scars left over from his most recent demon-date were still an angry red. "And Spike there had half a demon alphabet carved into him by First minions, and that really made her mad. She likes her guys quipy, well-toned and blemish free. Oh, and un-dusty"

There was no answer to that, and Spike continued to watch Angel through narrow eyes while Angel just looked momentarily dumbstruck.

Angel took a breath to speak, but whatever sermon he had planned on delivering was interrupted by the sharp clink of metal on glass.

As one, all three turned to look. The lens of Andrew's camera was pressed up against the inside of the window.

"Is he filming us? " Angel asked. Xander hoped it was a rhetorical question and kept quiet.

Spike, as usual, had other ideas. "_Buffy, the Slayer of the Vam-pyers, a comprehensive documentary of the history, specifics, and resolution of the current Final Apocalypse_," he said helpfully. "And you're just a cameo, so you can bugger off now."

Angel moved closer to the window, blocking Xander's route to the door. "And you're _letting_ him do this? Was he filming us before? "

"All evening. Caught your big escape, I'm sure, less the idiot let the battery run down again. Probably already put it up on the Internet."

Xander was swept aside by a force of nature as Angel suddenly whirled towards the window in full vamp face. He heard a faint yelp from somewhere inside and the camera lens disappeared behind the twitching curtain. Spike chose that movement to act and suddenly there were two vampires between Xander and the front door.

The two vampires froze; game faces and teeth inches from each other.

The sudden appearance of yellow eyes and sharp fangs provoked a feeling of infallibility. Xander pushed his arms out defensively as he moved between them.

"Whoa! Ignore Andrew, he's just a harmless geek with no life worth speaking of. We'll erase his film later." He sidled up to the door, pressing he back firmly into it and fumbled for the door knob, ready to retreat if the situation demanded it.

Spike forgot Angel long enough to be annoyed with Xander. "Hey, I have some good bits in it. Anyway, later he's making me a copy for the DVD player."

"Well, you know, I think the third take was your best, by the tenth it was getting a little stale… _I thought I told you to piss off with this bloody camera, grrrrrrr..yet here you are again with that thing in my face, grrrrr…."_

"That's….oww! " Spike's reply was cut off as Angel slammed him into the side of the house and held him there by the shoulders.

"Spike, are you going to answer the question or not?"

Xander figured the answer to the question was a big Not, if the scowl on Spike's face was anything to go by.

"No. It's none of your damn business, and why the hell are you here, anyway. "

"You are my business, I as good as made you, I'm responsible for what you do, what you do to these people, to Buffy. That's the only reason I'm here."

"Oh, that's just lovely. After four years you suddenly remembered I lived a whole two hours away and you came up here to see what I was up to. The big city must be keeping you busy."

"Actually it has, and I have much better things to do right now than check up on you. If you want, we can just fight for a while, and I can beat the crap out of you again. I know you like a good fight, when you can get one, that is."

Angel trailed a finger over Spike's forehead. "That little piece of government hardware won't come between us," he said mockingly.

Spike laughed as he pushed Angel away. "Don't come between me and anyone does it. Not anymore."

For a moment Xander thought he would attack again, but instead Spike retreated back to the steps, his frenetic hands smoothing the leather of his coat in search of his lighter. He ignored them as he lit another cigarette and puffed away at it steadily.

Incredulous, Angel just stared at him for a few seconds, and then turned to Xander.

"What's he talking about? I thought he couldn't hurt people, just demons. He has a chip, right, software or something…"

"Uh, Yeah, Big Guy. It was causing a few nasty side effects. Buffy called in Riley, remember him, Initiative Guy? Had it..uh… decommissioned a while back."

"Decom…_Buffy_? _Buffy_ had it removed, now he can kill people again? Why would she do that? " Angel took a step closer to Xander, the bulk of his body all but pinning him against the door. "Can he kill people again?"

Maybe Angel didn't mean it to be threatening, but it sure seemed that way. Xander leaned against the door, his hands up in the universal display of surrender. He felt resentful and angry at Angel's incursion into his personal space, and again lapsed into babbling mode.

"Yeah, or not, depending on the situation, and he can also push people into walls, imagine that…and you know you guys don't _have_ to use me as an interpreter, you know, you can just talk right to each other…you know, face to face, even. "

"Sorry, Xander." Angel stepped back, his hands held up in truce. Over Angel's shoulder Xander saw another half smoked cigarette sail to join its pack mates on the ground. He also saw the back of Spike's head, shoulders hunched over in leather, his arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

"Leave him alone. Leave me alone. Leave us all alone. Go away." Spike's voice was remote and muffled, as if unattached to the drama at hand.

"Not until I find out what the hell is going on here." Angel remained focused on Xander. "I want to know exactly what's been happening, with him, and the First."

Spike whirled around. "What happens up here is none of your damn business!" He met Xander's eyes and made an abrupt gesture with his hand. Instinctively Xander ducked down, dropping to the floor a fraction of a second before the older vampire's face impacted into the wall from the force of Spike's blow.

Angel recovered almost as fast, and whirled around to meet his attacker. "I know what it does, Spike. I've met it. I know about it, what it can do, who it can be."

Whatever happened between them happened at vampiric speed, and Xander soon lost the thread of the not-conversation. He knew there were _issues_, and suspected that the really pressing ones predated the moment when the Universe thought it would be a fun thing to start handing out souls to the Evil Undead.

Before, he'd always thought of them as different versions of the same creature, one was just smaller and shinier than the other. For years they'd occupied that part of the space-time continuum that kept away from his proper place at Buffy's side, but as much as he'd hated them he had admired and desired the speed and strength and the utter self-assurance they both possessed in spades.

But the super-strength advantage factor only worked against weaker beings, and for the most part they were an even match physically. The emotional battle was a toss up. Angel looked horrified and shocked while Spike was wavering between bewildered and angry.

At that moment they both looked utterly human.

Angel put his hands up again. "We don't have to do this."

"Yes we do, let's get it over with."

"Just tell me, why you did it".

"Just to piss you off, Mr. Oh So Bleeding Special."

"You know, Spike, I can almost believe that's true."

"Oh, then that's not why. It was another reason, but I forget it right now. Had other things on my mind at the time."

"What did Xander mean, there's no curse. How did Willow do it without the curse."

"Ha! Not Willow, some other big mojo. Found him myself, I did. Not a curse, did it right. I had to fight for it. My choice. Not a gypsy chew toy, didn't get mugged in a friggin' alley and have it rammed down my throat. Did it for myself. It's nothing to do with you. Go away. We don't want you anymore."

"You're not cursed. Why aren't you cursed?" For the first time ever, Xander almost felt sorry for Angel.

Spike stopped moving about, and just stood quietly, the look of on his face showed more raw astonishment than Xander had ever seen. "And how do you think I'm not cursed? I'm cursed. Just with myself, and a few thousand memories I'd rather not have. And you, and Dru and Darla, and everything I ever learned from you. Thanks, by the way."

For a few moments they circled like demon mustangs carving out territory, and then in a rush of movement both swept past Xander in a flare of way too much black leather for a warm spring night.

In the big rush to get to the arena, neither combatant bothered to stop and check on his circumstances, and he was left lying boneless and defeated on the floor. He was still alive, it seemed, but his heart was trying to pound its way through his rib cage again, and it occurred to him that one day it was just going to succumb to one of the frequent alarms and give up altogether.

Possibly very soon. More than likely before he made it to twenty-two. Or twenty-one and a half. He pulled his knees up closer to his chest, the soft denim fabric of his jeans squashed tightly between his fingers, and used the reassuring strength of the floor to push himself to his knees and then to his feet.

He stood, shaking slightly, and caught his breath after he remembered to start breathing again. The front door opened and slammed the wall where his head had been two seconds earlier. He found Dawn standing beside him. An Angry Dawn, with one of those dammed tasers held aggressively out in front of her.

"Are you hurt?" She looked at him, all brave and fearless, and he took a moment to be in awe of the halo the porch light swept around her head.

"I'm here to rescue you," she said.

He wondered why he'd even questioned her heritage. "Gee, thanks Dawn. That's swell, but I think I can handle it. Danger seems to have run off noisily into the night."

She darted past him to the railing and peered into the yard. "That's too bad," she said. "I guess I'll have to rescue Spike instead."

He waited a beat for the punch line, and then realized she was serious. "Oh yeah, Dawn, let's do that, he'll really appreciate that a lot."

"Are you kidding, it would so piss him off if I went out there to save him from Angel." She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes glittering. "I'm going to do it, then. That'll teach him to ignore me."

"Dawn, I don't think he's been ignoring you, just kind of avoiding you."

"Same diff," she said as she revved up the charge on the taser. "Have you got a weapon?"

"Just you," he told her.

"Okay," she said, just like a veteran Navy Seal. "Let's go get him."

Then she was gone, and he was alone on the porch again.

The night was still dark, but it wasn't so silent anymore. There was swearing, and yelling, and thumping noises. And from the sounds of it, Buffy's garden was getting trashed again.

"Dawn," he said. "Wait for me."

He sighed again, loudly, so that everyone concerned could hear him and know just how much he was suffering. Then he walked down the steps to the yard.


End file.
